


Tales from a Holiday Airbnb

by notevenjokingfic



Series: Tales From ... [3]
Category: Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:35:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22050406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notevenjokingfic/pseuds/notevenjokingfic
Summary: Jamie Fraser and Claire Beauchamp are looking for some peace and quiet from their usual holiday routines. When they both arrive at the same Airbnb, they realize an internet glitch has taken both bookings for the same cottage.  So...now what?
Relationships: Claire Beauchamp/Jamie Fraser
Series: Tales From ... [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1471493
Comments: 74
Kudos: 217





	1. Part I

There are two things that Jamie Fraser and Claire Beauchamp have in common, even though they have never met. 

One, they hate the holidays.

For one of them, Christmas is a never-ending slog of drunken party goers who end up in the City Community Hospital A & E in Oxfordshire, England, with split skin requiring stitches, broken bones needing casts, and stomachs needing pumped from too much alcohol.

For the other, it’s non-stop noise and chaos in a house in Broch Tuarach, Scotland, as young children with sticky fingers run through the family home, hit each other while fighting over newly acquired toys, underscored by the same tired traditions of watching Dr. Who and the Queen’s Speech.

Just the thought of having to face another Yuletide Festival of Vomit had Claire Beauchamp putting in for a full two weeks’ holidays at the beginning of October. 

Just the thought of having to face five screaming, overtired children had Jamie plotting and scheming for months for a way to escape from Christmas at Lallybroch. 

So it was that on the evening of November 24th, while perusing the World Wide Web in their separate corners of the UK, Jamie Fraser and Claire Beauchamp discovered the perfect cottage nestled in the mountains of the Scottish Highlands. Described as cozy, with modern conveniences, including WiFi, and boasting stone fireplaces, it hit all the right notes. Jamie envisioned packing a suitcase full of the books he’d never gotten around to reading. Claire pictured lying about binge watching as much as she could on her laptop. That same night, after entering their information and credit card numbers, they both hit Confirm at precisely 8:21:06 GMT. 

And the internet, being the wonderful, glitchy, imperfect mechanism that it is, accepted both of their reservations, and their money.

~~~

Claire arrives the morning of December 20th, her train pulling into the quiet little station just after the check in time of 1:00 p.m. Mr. Archibald Bug, the Airbnb host, is waiting for her on the platform. The elderly man fusses over her suitcases, and drives her to the cottage in an old car that she isn’t quite sure will make it. He opens the door, hands her the keys and wrestles the bags inside while she looks around. 

It is small, comfortable, and quiet. And absolutely perfect. 

An hour later Claire is firmly ensconced on the sofa, with a steaming mug of tea, and the first episode of a new series on Netflix.

Jamie, on the other hand, is still on the phone at work, with his sister. _I’m no’ comin’ this year, Janet. I’ve plans._

He hits the speaker button and throws the phone down onto his desk in the corner office of Fraser Printing Co. Packing books from his shelf, the spines still stiff and new, his mind is more on the days ahead where he can read until he goes cross-eyed. That reminds him to dig into a drawer and retrieve his glasses. He searches for their case and finally finds it on a shelf behind his desk. 

When he tunes back into the conversation he catches the tail end of his sister’s rant. _Jamie, the kids will be so upset!_

He is ready for this argument. _Those kids don’t give a shit if I’m there. I love my nieces and nephews, Jenny, ye ken that I do, but Father Christmas is gonna come whether I’m there or not._

After another few minutes of stubborn Fraser fighting, he ends the call and breathes a sigh of relief. As far as he’s concerned the hardest part is over. It’s all downhill from here.

His suitcase is already in the boot when he tosses his backpack into the back seat. He settles behind the wheel, and with the giddy excitement of a teenager taking his dad’s car solo for the first time, he leaves the car park and heads deep into the Highlands. 

He meets Mrs. Murdina Bug at the post office in the tiny town, as instructed. He gets the keys from her, stops at the grocer’s, and drives toward the outskirts down a ridiculously narrow dirt road. It’s getting late and the sun is already trying to set. He finally spots the stone fence, and the cottage beyond its walls. Smoke is coming from the chimney and he smiles. The Bugs have already gotten it ready for him it seems; he makes a mental note to give them a good review on the website. 

It looks welcoming and isolated at the same time. And absolutely perfect. 

He parks the car, grabs his bags, and heads inside. 

There’s a dirty mug on the table. A plate needing washing up in the sink. Blankets askew on the sofa. 

Making a mental note not to give a good review he turns around at the sound of the door opening behind him.

The woman in the doorway is bundled up from head to toe, and all he can really see is a pair of flashing golden eyes, and wild curls spilling from under her woolen hat.

 _Who the bloody hell are you?_ she says in a clipped English accent.

 _I’m the guy who’s let this place for the next two weeks._ A thought hits him, and he relaxes. _Are ye the service here to clean? I didna think I was early._

 _Clean?!_ she shrieks. _This is my Bnb for the next two weeks!_

They stare at each other, dumbfounded, as the seconds tick by. 

_I need tae think,_ he says.

 _Well, you can’t think here,_ she says, noticing the staccato taps of two fingers against his thigh.

 _Excuse me, Lass, but I’ve paid for this up front. So I’ll think wherever I damn well please._ Beautiful she may be, but she’s a bit prickly for his taste.

 _Well, so have I!_ He’s tall and handsome, his blue eyes reminding her of the loch she just walked around but he seems like the bully type. The ones who try to turn your answers inside out and use them against you.

 _How many bedrooms is this place again?_ he asks, scratching at the scruff along his impossibly sharp jaw.

 _You can’t be serious,_ she says, hands on hips. _You don’t honestly think you can stay here._

 _I do, actually._ The thought of having to retreat to Jenny’s for Christmas has his stomach in knots, and his tone sharper than he means to be. 

_I’m very sorry, but I arrived first. I’ve got a set of keys and everything._ She decides to claim squatting rights.

Jamie dangles the key in his hand bringing her argument to a screeching halt. _I made this booking weeks ago._ He rubs both hands through his ruddy locks. The tousled hair makes him even more rugged, more handsome. _Look. I promise, I’m not a madman or a weirdo. I’ve had a very long day, and all I want tae do is eat, and sleep. Can we please just discuss this in the mornin’?_

Claire cannot believe she’s considering this. He does look tired, and worried. The windows in the cottage are dark. Night has fallen, and she understands the road isn’t great for driving in the dark.

 _You can stay tonight. But tomorrow, you go,_ she says, trying to sound decisive. 

_We’ll see,_ he says, knowing she can’t really kick him out. He offers her a handshake. _I’m Jamie Fraser, by the way,_ he says. _Pleasure tae meet ye._ Her hand is small, and still a bit chilled from the outdoors. 

_Claire. Claire Beauchamp._ His hand is large, and warm, his skin just the right texture of soft and calloused.

The quaint, tranquil cottage is suddenly charged with a nervous energy. Interests have been piqued, curiosities aroused, as both Jamie and Claire discover they have another thing in common. 

They are, quite obviously, very attracted to each other.


	2. Part II

If the internet conspired to bring Jamie and Claire together, Mother Nature made sure they stayed that way. She laid a blanket of snow so thick that Jamie’s car was nothing but a high drift in the driveway. 

The BBC was calling it an obvious show of Climate Change. 

The Earth Goddess would call it matchmaking. 

~~~

A weak winter light lengthens across the bedroom floor, gently brightening the room. Claire stretches under the mountainous duvet, feeling warm and well rested. There isn’t a sound anywhere. No street noises. No voices. Just blessed silence.

She can’t remember the last time she was surrounded by a quiet like this. Her life is a series of sounds, from hospital pages, to sirens, to human groans, and screams. Her flat is filled with noises from traffic, television, and radio, to her neighbour’s domestic disputes. 

She savors the silence for a few moments, but that peace is short-lived when she suddenly remembers the Scot in her living room. Reluctantly she extracts herself from the bed, puts on some socks and a long sweater, and creeps down the stairs. 

He’s sprawled on a sofa that’s much too small for him. One leg is dangling off the side, the other rests over the arm of the couch. He’s flat on his back with the blanket bunched around his waist. He sleeps like the dead, hands resting on well-formed abs. Just the right amount of reddish-gold hair adorns his chest. His auburn curls are matted along his head and down his neck. He looks both boyish and dead sexy at the same time, and it makes her feel a bit dizzy. 

Regardless, he needs to leave. Today.

Standing at the kitchen sink pouring water into the kettle she glances outside. The metal clang of the pot hitting the stainless-steel wakes Jamie with a jolt. 

_What in hell?_ he asks sleepily.

Claire runs to the front door and yanks it open. She immediately regrets it. Snow tumbles inside onto her fuzzy socks. What remains is a fragile wall that’s as tall as her knees.

By this time, Jamie is up, and pulling a sweatshirt over his head. Standing behind Claire, he looks out into the wide expanse of the Highlands before him. Nothing but white for miles and miles. He braces his hands against the door frame and leans past Claire, his chest pressing against her back while he checks for his car. 

Claire doesn’t move, trapped as she is between Jamie’s body and the snowy front step. He bends his head to look her straight in the eye and she’s momentarily lost in a sea of blue that is completely at odds with the weather outside. His are a deep, tropical blue, and the warmth behind them hints that he finds this situation a lot funnier than she does. He’s also far too close, and his body against her back is warm from sleep. She can see the russet stubble along his jawline and the ache it creates between her thighs betrays any attempt at staying aloof. 

_Looks like we’re stranded here, Sassenach. Take days to get this mess sorted._ He steps back and gently grabs her elbow, guiding her backwards. He shuts the door and faces her boldly, with a smirk across his handsome face. _I suppose that means I’m stayin’ with ye._

~~~

Jamie hates the way she stands with the refrigerator door wide open, staring into it as if the food she wants will choose itself and fall into her hands. He sits in a chair by the fire counting the seconds she wastes, all that cold air pouring into the already drafty cottage.

 _Ye ken ye can shut the door and think about what ye want, aye? Might make for a fun memory game._ When she turns around to glare at him, he can’t help himself. He taps at his forehead and says, _Studies show memory games can improve yer brain function. Maybe…,_ he says, waving a hand around the general area, _Just maybe, ye could clean up the cups and dishes ye leave around while ye think about what tae eat._ He doesn’t quite catch what she mutters under her breath, but it doesn’t matter. 

She slams the fridge door, spins around, hands on hips. _I make split-second high-stakes decisions every day. Every bit of my job is focused on hygiene. Pardon me for thinking that choosing something for tea could be a bit less pressure, or that I could be a bit lax on the washing up while I’m on holiday!_ She flops back down on the sofa, then addresses him again. _I realize this trip isn’t turning out the way you planned, but you don’t have to be an asshole._

Jamie is stunned. She puts her earbuds in, effectively shutting down the conversation. He meant what he said, but he never thought he came off like an arse. He realizes he doesn’t know what she does for a living. And that bothers him. Trapped for almost 24 hours, and he hasn’t even had the good manners Ellen Fraser gave him to ask. 

He tries to get back into his book, but he can’t. Resting it face down on his chest, he stretches his legs out, and props his feet on the coffee table, trying to think of something to say to defuse the situation. 

_Would it kill you to NOT put your enormous Hobbit feet next to my head?_ she says, firmly. _Seriously, it’s rude._

 _My what?_ he laughs.

 _Your Hobbit feet._ She closes her computer, stands up. _Big, smelly, and hairy. It would be nice if you’d wear socks, or at the very least, keep them off furniture usually reserved for where people place the things they’re drinking. And do you have to moan so loudly when you yawn? It sounds like you’re in the throes of an orgasm._

Jamie gasps, then chokes on his surprise, his eyes wide with shock at her statement. He watches as she blushes furiously, watches as her mouth works trying to form the words to take back the fact she equates his noises with orgasms. 

She bolts from the room, her shin hitting the coffee table. She spits out a whispered curse as she half sprints, half limps up the stairs. 

He is both amused and enamoured by the time he hears the bedroom door shut firmly. 

~~~

Standing in the shower the next morning, Jamie is staring at the water swirling around his feet. How had he never noticed the hair? _Christ,_ he thinks, _I’m of Viking descent, I’m hairy all over. And what does a man do about that? Shave it all? Shave his feet?_

He reaches for his can of gel, slathers a bit over his big toe. He’s careful with the razor. He surveys the result, repeats the process on the other foot. 

When he dresses he puts on socks, even though he hates wearing them. 

Claire is in the kitchen when he comes downstairs, looking deliciously tousled from her sleep. Curls are escaping from the long braid that’s hanging over one shoulder, her face is warm and pink, eyes blinking as if trying to focus. She’s standing in front of the fridge again, and hastily shuts it when she realizes he’s there. 

With a simple, _Mornin’, Sassenach_ , Jamie makes a decision, then gets to work. He starts to make porridge, then puts various accoutrements on the counter. Almond butter, yoghurt, shredded coconut, blueberries, raspberries, chia seeds.

Claire can feel her face flush as Jamie comes downstairs. She’s grateful he doesn’t mention what she said the night before, which she finds rather gentlemanly. As he moves around the kitchen, Claire notices the socks. She’s impressed; he’s clearly a man who doesn’t mind a compromise. It doesn’t escape her notice that he’s cooked for both of them, which achieves his goal of keeping the cold air inside the fridge, and effectively taking the decision-making process out of her hands should she care to accept his gesture. 

He’s trying, she’ll give him that. Later that morning she drags the ottoman from her room, bumping it down the stairs. She slides it across the floor, and positions it in front of Jamie’s preferred chair, saying, _It’s really wasted up there. I don’t need it._

He acknowledges her effort with a _Thank ye, Sassenach._ _Truly,_ and goes back to his book, his legs now comfortably stretched out, and a half smile playing about his mouth.

The next few days pass in companionable silence.

There exists a kind of delicate dance between them, with a bunch of excuse mes and sorrys as they navigate around the space trying to keep a polite distance. They make small talk, discuss their jobs, but for the most part they do what they came to do. Read, binge watch, rest, and relax. 

Over time, Claire is pleasantly surprised by her housemate. He’s considerate, neat, and quiet, yawns notwithstanding. He’s taken to cooking for both of them, while she tidies up. Once in a while a cup of tea appears on the table beside her, with a plate of shortbread biscuits, or some fruit. 

_Thank you_ , she says, quietly. He just hums in response and takes a sip from his own steaming mug, eyes back on the book he’s reading. 

At night, she lies in bed feeling extremely guilty about all the space she has while he’s folded up on the couch like a pretzel.

 _Would you like to sleep in the bed tonight?_ she offers, and the look he sends her is enough to set fire to her soul. His eyes narrow, his nostrils flare, and his jaw clenches. She stutters about how she felt they could take turns, but he simply declines saying he’s fine where he is. 

On the fourth day a thaw begins, and the top half of Jamie’s car is visible. The road is still covered, and messy, but she wonders if she should broach the subject of him leaving. The truth is, she doesn’t want him to leave. He’s great company. So, she ignores the weather, and watches Christmas movies instead.

Jamie has chosen his chair by the fire with purpose. He can see the screen over her shoulder, and once in a while he watches. She likes medical dramas, but corrects the writers’ mistakes under her breath with muttered comments like _“that would never happen”_ and _“he should be dead right now”_. She devours true crime documentaries, and as the tension builds she fiddles with one long curl, winding it around her finger over and over. Right now, she’s on a holiday binge. Christmas movie after Christmas movie, all fake snow and castles, and holiday window shopping. Everyone wearing various shades of red and green. She’s got the subtitles on which makes him smile. He does the same, American accents being what they are. It gives him an idea. He casually mentions that he’s going to check on his car, and bundles up to go outside. 

_Anything I can do to help?_ she asks, but not in a way that says she’s eager for him to check that the car can start so he’ll go. He finds that very interesting.

He declines her offer, and shuts the door firmly. He digs through the boot of his car to find what he needs. Wandering the property, he knows he’ll probably catch hell for this, but he does it anyway. An hour and a half later he’s back, dragging a small Fraser fir into the lounge. She sits up with a gasp. 

_What in the hell are you doing?_ she says, voice rising in alarm.

 _All those Christmas movies ye’re watching have put me in the holiday spirit, Sassenach. It’s the 24th! We need a proper tree._ He can’t help but laugh at her shocked expression. She has a glass face, and every thought, every emotion is revealed. She’s surprised, then worried, then secretly delighted. _I ken what ye’re thinkin’, he says. The Bugs won’t like it. But what they dinnae ken won’t hurt ‘em, eh?_

Claire stands up, hands on hips. Jamie realizes that’s one of her signature stances. _No. I’m thinking, how the hell are you going to stand it up?_

Jamie shrugs in an effort to show her he’s got it all in hand, when in fact he doesn’t. He never thought that part through. Didn’t think beyond the fact that he had the means to do something for her, so he did it.

She walks into the kitchen and looks under the cupboard for a bucket. After filling it with water, she sets it into a corner of the lounge and motions for Jamie to pop the tree in. _This will do until we figure something out,_ she says logically. Jamie cocks his head fascinated with this take-charge, practical side of Claire Beauchamp.

They rummage through closets and under beds. Claire spots a trap door for the attic, and they climb up, using their phones as torches. A few minutes in, Claire spots a dusty box marked ‘Xmas’ and shows Jamie. He pushes it to the edge of the trap door, and after lowering himself back down from the attic, easily carries it into the lounge. Inside there are lights and decorations. Claire continues to snoop, and her shout of _Found it!_ makes him jump.

Jamie gets to work on the old tree stand while Claire sorts through the rest. There are a handful of decent ornaments, and much to her delight, a bag of tinsel. She hasn’t seen that since she was a small girl.

 _My uncle used to make me lay this on the tree one strand at a time,_ she says, a longing in her voice. 

_Aye,_ Jamie laughs, _my Mam was the same. Except my brother and I would throw it at each other, then on the tree in clumps and our sister would scold and straighten it._

It’s early evening when the tree is finished, and night is falling fast. Jamie carries the box into the bedroom to store it under the bed, while she makes them pizza. They eat it on the floor, watching the fire dance, and the lights twinkle.

 _You know what would be great right now?_ Claire says, standing up to take her plate to the sink. _Christmas music._

Jamie digs an Echo Dot out of the suitcase he’s stored in the corner. 

_You’ve had that all this time?_ Claire points an accusing finger at him. _Why didn’t you take it out before?_

Jamie shoots her a look over his shoulder. _Because I was supposed to be here alone, ye ken? And because all ye do is watch shows, my loud music would have posed a wee problem._

She feels a little bad at how she reacted upon his arrival, and how they got off on the wrong foot.

 _Come on, then,_ he goads, as he plugs it in. _Let’s hear what ye call Christmas music._ He takes a few minutes to set it up. 

Claire pulls her phone out of her pocket and sets up the bluetooth. In a matter of moments Cliff Richard’s ‘Mistletoe and Wine’ is playing.

 _Ah, fer feck’s sake!_ Jamie groans. _Who listens to that?_ He fumbles with his phone, and changes the song. ‘Merry Xmas Everybody’ by Slade takes over. 

_I’ll give you that one,_ Claire laughs. _I love this song._

_So here it iiiiis, Merry Christmas. Everybody’s having fun. Look to the future now, it’s only just begun!_ Jamie sings at full volume, even though he can barely carry a tune. He bounces along the sofa cushions like he’s on a stage. She can’t help but smile. 

_My turn,_ Claire announces, _and no changing it! We each get a full song. Agreed?_

 _Fine,_ he smiles. _Rules I can play by._

She chooses ‘Do They Know It’s Christmas’ by Band Aid. Jamie jumps from the sofa to a chair and sits down hard. He begins to drum on the table like he’s Phil Collins. Claire grabs the TV remote to use as a microphone. 

_And there won’t be snow in Africa this Christmastime,_ they sing together. _The greatest gift they’ll get this year is life._ Jamie switches to air guitar, then air tambourine, which has Claire laughing so hard there are tears in her eyes. 

It’s his turn and he picks another song. Back and forth it goes, each rejecting or applauding the other’s choice. 

_Here’s one you’ll probably hate,_ Claire says, _but I don’t care. This is my all-time favourite._

‘Last Christmas’ by Wham! starts to play and Jamie shakes his head. He’ll never admit that he’s always liked this song.

 _Last Christmas, I gave you my heart, but the very next day you gave it away. This year, to save me from tears, I’ll give it to someone special._ Claire is into it. Eyes closed, she’s singing and swaying.

Jamie can’t help himself. He slips his arm around her waist, and his hand into hers. Her eyes fly open at the contact, but he keeps it as casual as he can. His hand rests at the small of her back, and he slowly applies a gentle pressure to bring her closer. 

And closer still.

 _You’re so tall,_ she whispers, bending her neck back to look at him.

 _Ye’re perfect,_ he whispers back. Her eyes widen, then her lids drop and she looks away shyly. He rubs her back in comfort. He doesn’t mean to upset her, so he puts a little space between their bodies. Claire immediately counters, and she is pressed against him again.

It’s all the encouragement he needs.

Releasing her hand, he places a finger under her chin, and tips her face upward. He breaks eye contact to stare longingly at her lips, hopefully making his intention clear, giving her time pull away. She stops dancing, raises up on her tiptoes.

In one smooth movement he bends down, his body curving around hers, and wrapping both arms around her, he lifts her up, their lips meeting. Her mouth opens, and her tongue gently probes at his lips. The kiss deepens. She winds her arms tight around his neck, her hand cradling his head, fingers deep in his hair.

They break for air, both panting, pulses racing. Claire’s eyes stay closed for a few moments, and Jamie is free watch her, to see his kiss on her lips, to watch as she arches her neck up toward him again, her mouth searching for more. Their breath mingles, their bodies acknowledge the wanting.

 _Claire,_ Jamie speaks softly, _I want ye so much I can scarcely breathe. Will ye have me?_

It has been so long for her. Her body is strung as tight as a bow, and she’s certain if Jamie lets go she will crumble to the floor unable to support herself. Her eyes flutter open. That deep tropical blue stares back at her making her feel warm all over. His lids are half closed, like he’s struggling to stay in this world, struggling to not disappear into his desire. The realization that he wants her as much as she wants him is exhilarating.

 _Yes,_ she breathes, _Yes, I’ll have you._

Slowly, he slides her down his body, letting her feel his arousal. _Ye’re sure?_ he asks.

 _I make split-second high-stakes decisions every day_ , she responds, smiling. _So, yeah, I’m sure._

He lets her go long enough to grab the blanket he uses to sleep with, and spreads it on the floor. They waste no time shedding their clothes. Jamie is mesmerized by the way the firelight plays across her skin, how the Christmas tree lights make her eyes glow the most beautiful shade of amber. Her hair splays around her head like a dark halo, the curls both absorbing the light, and reflecting it. She lies back, arms spread, waiting for him. 

Pushing down his pants, he kicks free of them, then struggles with his socks.

 _Fuckin’ things,_ he complains, and Claire giggles. 

He pauses to stare at her, and when she moves to cover her breasts, he stops her. _Dinnae do that,_ he says, low and sexy. Slowly, he bends over her, and takes one nipple in his mouth, pulls gently. The sensation shoots right between her legs.

When he covers her with his body she sighs in pleasure. Her legs wrap around him, and they hold each other close, his kisses trailing over her cheekbones to suckle an earlobe. She runs her hands down his sides, then between them to rub the chest hairs she was so intrigued by that first morning.

They explore each other, taking their time, kissing freckles and moles. Claire bites at his abdomen, which drives Jamie wild. He trails kisses along her inner thighs until she squirms, and holds his head at their juncture. And when they finally join together, their gasps and moans are intermingled with heated, passionate words. Jamie slips inside her just as snow begins to fall again, and Christmas Eve turns into Christmas Day. He closes his eyes and savours the feel of her, slick and tight. 

Claire writhes below him, flexing upward with every push of his hips. The pressure builds slowly, and when she slips a hand between them to help herself over the edge, Jamie finds her boldness so erotic he growls like a man on the edge of control. As she shatters around him, Jamie lets himself go, his forehead resting on hers, his heart pounding.

~~~

Jamie wakes up with her arse pressed against his arousal. The cottage has become chilly, so he gets up to throw another log on the fire. She stirs at his retracting body heat. 

He feels her hot hand on his calf as he kneels before the hearth breathing life into the dying embers. When he gets the fire going again, he turns to look at her. She’s watching him, her feline-like eyes, fixed and unblinking. He would assume she was undressing him with her eyes if he had any clothes on. When she licks her lips like a cat who spots her prey, he’s a goner. The fact that he wants her again couldn’t be more obvious. 

_It’s Christmas,_ she says, crooking a finger at him.

 _Aye, ‘tis._ He crawls back over to her, and once again, covers her with his body. Her legs wind around his, her breasts press against his chest, her hips push against his in a silent plea. The kiss she gives him leaves no doubt as to how they’ll be celebrating. 

_Alexa,_ Jamie says, breaking the kiss. _Play ‘Step Into Christmas’ by Elton John._

The song fills the room, and Claire laughs, a full belly laugh that makes Jamie’s heart burst with joy. _Step into Christmas. Let’s join together. We can watch the snow fall forever and ever. Eat, drink and be merry. Come along with me. Step into Christmas. The admission’s free._

Claire rolls him over so that she’s on top this time. _Very fitting lyrics, James Fraser_ , she says, her hand slowly stroking the part of his body that she’s hoping will join with hers very soon.

~~~

They miss the Queen’s Speech because they’re snuggling on the sofa watching The Holiday. They miss Dr. Who because they are entwined under the thick duvet in the bedroom, fast asleep after a day of vigorous lovemaking.

Mother Nature surveys her subjects from her celestial throne, smiling at the perfect weather she’s created around the world. Perfect, except for one little corner in Scotland. In that place she’s busy sculpting icicles and laying down a thick layer of sleet. 

Because only the Earth Goddess knows how to spark a fire with ice.


	3. Part III

In the week leading up to the New Year the weather warmed up, and the rain melted the snow and ice. Considering her work done, Mother Nature turned her gaze from the Highlands, leaving Jamie and Claire to their own devices.

She just hoped they wouldn’t fuck it up.

~~~

She stretches out her hand to see if it will happen again.

Like a scientist running a trial, she is collecting data on one James Fraser. 

Sliding her fingers through the hair at his temple this time, she watches as his mouth quirks in the sweetest of smiles. She holds back a giggle. Over the course of the last four days, whenever she touches him in sleep, whether it be the curls at his nape, the lock that falls over his forehead, or the russet strands she tucks behind his ear, Jamie smiles. 

Her sexy, tall, broad-chested Viking looks positively angelic. 

In the days after Christmas they talk about anything and everything. Jamie knows about her job at the A & E, she knows about his printing company. He reads to her from the books he’s brought with him, his tortoise-rimmed glasses sliding down his nose. Claire introduces him to shows he’s never watched, and gets him hooked on The Great British Bake-Off.

They discuss what it’s like to not have any parents, wordlessly understanding the frustration, the loneliness of not having a guiding hand anymore. Being delivered into adulthood without a wise word, a consultant, someone to help you navigate the tougher decisions. Jamie looks like he wants to say more, his tropical blue eyes staring at her with a seriousness that has her holding her breath. _Say it_ , she silently implores. _Say you want to do this adulting thing together._

Jamie watches her eyes, watches the flecks of gold and amber in her irises brighten with unsaid words, and burgeoning tears. He wants to tell her, to shout it from the roof of the cottage, that he would like nothing more than to be her family. To make a family, and be orphans no more. But he stays silent, unsure if an isolating trip to an idyllic cottage over a holiday makes it as real for her as it is for him. 

On the nights after Christmas they climb the stairs together to the tiny bedroom. One night, he chases her up, and their lovemaking is fun and playful. They tease and tickle, and laugh together until that final moment when he sets his body to pleasing hers, the laughter replaced by sighs and moans. Another night, they start on the settee with soft kisses, and heavy petting. He carries her up like a child, her legs wrapped around his hips and his hands under her arse. That night the sex is slow, and languid, the kind of love that couples with nothing but time make. The kind where no outside thoughts crowd the brain, just the sensations they are feeling at the moment. Sensations like the texture of each other’s skin, the smell of their desire, the taste of their pleasure. Their kisses are lingering, their tongues dancing in exploration. It’s the kind of sex that Claire can’t get enough of, the kind where she can just stretch her body out, hands gripping the iron headboard, legs spread, back arching into Jamie as he slowly kisses his way from top to bottom.

She experiences a wellspring of want, a cavernous craving. She yearns for his company, and his conversation just as much as she lusts after his body. So the fact that he smiles in his sleep, while lying next to her, must mean he’s happy. 

She convinces herself that it has to mean something. 

It is the morning of December 31, and the end of their booking. Each has plans for ringing in the New Year, so goodbyes are imminent. But, at this moment, her lover is smiling in his sleep, and she wants him. She snuggles closer to kiss the rough stubble under his jaw. She runs a hand down his torso and between his legs. Jamie’s half-asleep body responds by rolling onto his back and letting his legs fall open. 

Oh yes, she will have him again. 

~~~

Jamie drags the Christmas tree back out into the wooded area behind the cottage, while Claire sweeps up the dropped needles. The decorations have been placed back in the box, stored in the attic once again. 

The house is tidy. 

He tosses Claire’s suitcase into the back seat of his car, and they start down the narrow road to the train station. 

He waits with her on the platform, his arms around her, as much to keep her warm as to hold her for as long as he can.

 _We’ll make it work_ , he promises, kissing the top of her head. _I’ll come to Oxfordshire._

 _My work schedule is erratic, at best,_ she warns. _Plans need to be made in advance, I’m afraid._

 _Aye._ She can feel him nod his head. _When I call we’ll get our diaries out, firm up some weekend dates._

As the train pulls away from the station, Claire watches until Jamie is a small speck. He’s waving, but she isn’t. She’s not naive. He’ll call, of course he will, and they’ll see each other two, three times at the most. And then the calls will become less frequent, and the weekends less open. She knows the drill of a long-distance romance. 

Last Christmas, indeed. She’ll never be able to listen to that song in the same way again.

~~~

He texts her when he gets home, but she isn’t answering. He decides she must be asleep on the train because he refuses to believe she’s ignoring him. She wouldn’t. 

He stops at home briefly to throw his bags in the flat, and touch base with the lads. They’re meeting at the pub in a couple of hours, but Jamie is at loose ends. He texts his cousin, Rupert, and asks if they want to start drinking now. 

Thirty minutes later, pub food in front of them and on their second round of pints, Jamie huffs in annoyance.

 _Ye mean tae tell me,_ Rupert says for the fourth time, speaking slowly as if talking to a child, _ye spent the Christmas holiday shaggin’ that bonnie lass, and ye’re here? Ye came back here? For Hogmanay? Wi’ us?_

 _Aye. She made it clear she had plans,_ Jamie says impatiently. 

_And ye fucking believed her?_ Rupert is incredulous. He’s a large man, built like a rugby player, thick in the middle, and heavy shouldered. He’s got a full beard, and a head like a melon, but because he resembles a big cuddly bear, he’s rather popular with the ladies.

Angus, Rupert’s best friend, snorts into his beer. 

_What the fuck is your problem, wee man?_ Jamie snaps.

 _What’s my problem?_ Angus fires back, slamming his pint glass on the table sloshing the contents. _I’m no’ the one with the problem, mate. Ye’re fucked, is what ye are. Ye dropped that lass off at the train wi’ no more than a by yer leave. No wonder she’s no’ answering yer texts._

Jamie’s stomach clenches in fear. There’s no way Claire is upset with him. She hugged him to the last. Their final kiss was filled with so much passion, she knew he didn’t want to let her go. Didn’t she?

 _How far to where she lives?_ Rupert asks, popping some chips into his mouth.

 _Oxfordshire?_ Jamie frowns, pulls out his phone to check. _Six hours drive, give or take._

 _Then why are ye still here, man?_ Rupert shouts. 

_Ye think I should go there? Now?_ Jamie is in shock. Could he?

 _Ye dobber_ , Angus mutters.

Jamie shoots him a look that is clearly meant to intimidate him into shutting up.

 _Guan yersel’!_ Rupert encourages. _Ye’ve that much time and more til midnight!_

Jamie’s mind works overtime. Six hours, with a couple of stops, and he could make it in time. He stands abruptly, knocking the table with his knee. The lads grab the sides to steady it, shouting at him to go already. 

So, he does.

~~~

He stops once for gas, takes a quick piss, buys some crisps, and a can of Irn Bru-Energy. Being Hogmanay, the traffic is light. Everyone is already where they need to be to ring in the New Year. 

Five hours and 50 minutes later he’s cruising the streets of Oxford with absolutely no idea where to go, and only a half hour before midnight. He pulls over on the High Street, dials Claire’s number.

 _Pick up, Darlin’_ , he begs under his breath. 

He hears the background noise before he hears her voice, and his heart begins to pound loudly in his chest.

 _Jamie?_ she says, and he could cry at the relief he feels. 

_Claire!_ he shouts, _Where are ye?_

 _I’m in Oxford. It’s almost midnight._ He rolls his eyes at this. She sounds sober enough, but by Christ, he’s well aware of what time it is.

 _I ken ye’re in Oxfordshire, but where are ye? In a pub? House party?_ He’s desperate. Time is ticking away and he doesn’t want to miss another minute with her.

 _The Oxford Arms,_ she says. _Why d’you ask?_

He sees it. By God, he can see it right on the corner, people spilling out of the door, the gold letters lit up by the Christmas lights strung above the sign. 

He hangs up without another word. He knows it’s rude, but time is of the essence. He puts the car in gear, frantically looks for a place to park. Cursing at top volume in both English and Gaelic, he finally finds a spot on a side street, and wedges the car in as best he can. _Gimme a fucking ticket, I dinnae care,_ he mutters as he climbs out of the car, and locks it behind him.

He runs full tilt towards the pub. It is wall-to-wall people. As he pushes his way in he’s getting jostled, elbowed, and yelled at, but he doesn’t care. At 6’4” he glowers at anyone who dares cross him, all the while using his height to find one of the smallest women on the planet. 

_Oi!_ the bouncer yells. _30 quid to get in, mate!_

Jamie digs his wallet out of a back pocket and throws two 20£ notes at him. When he looks up again he sees her. It has to be her. Her brown braid hangs over one shoulder, it’s the same way she wore her hair that first morning when she came down the stairs looking like the Goddess Athena. Without losing sight of her, he moves through the crowd.

 _TEN!_ The countdown begins and it feels like his heart is going to give out, he’s convinced of it.

 _NINE!_ He pushes his way forward with more force, moving like a bulldozer trying to shift a pile of rubble.

 _EIGHT!_ He sees a bloke tap the woman on the shoulder, sees him bend down to talk into her ear. She turns to face the man, and Jamie finally gets a good look at her.

Claire.

His Claire.

 _SEVEN!_ He freezes for a brief second; then his adrenaline kicks in. _NOT TODAY, MATE!_ he hollers at the guy who’s talking to his Claire. He’s still too far away, but at least it scares some people blocking his path, and they shift out of his way.

 _SIX!_ She’s within reach. He just has to pass this one redhead, and he’s there.

 _FIVE!_ He reaches forward, over the redheaded woman’s shoulder, and caresses Claire’s neck, just one finger down her spine like he’s done a dozen times over the past five days. She stiffens, and turns. The man is looking at Jamie, and trying to put his arm around Claire at the same time. 

_FOUR!_ Jamie slides past the redhead who is looking at him with a huge grin on her face. 

_Sassenach_ , he says, completely out of breath. She looks up at him, eyes wide with disbelief, mouth open in shock. Her face is flushed from the crowded bar, her chin trembling just a wee bit. 

_THREE!_ He places his hands on either side of her face, needing to touch her, to prove that he’s real, and not a figment of her imagination. 

_Hey, mate,_ the man says, trying to step in front of Claire.

 _Why don’t ye fuck off, eh?_ Jamie spares the guy enough of a glance to let him know he means business. He’s an academic type, and far too slight, and sober, to be stupid enough to push back on this obvious claim. 

The redheaded woman comes to the rescue, grabbing the stranger by the arm, leading him away.

 _TWO!_ Claire comes to her senses, her hands are around his waist gripping his belt, tugging him forward.

 _What are you doing here?_ she says, laughter bubbling from her lips, her eyes glittering with unshed tears, shining like the tinsel they laid on their Christmas tree.

 _ONE!_

_Claire,_ he says, his voice low, and urgent. _Ye werena the first lass I kissed, but I swear you’ll be the last._

 _HAPPY NEW YEAR!_ The pub explodes with cheers, whistles, and plastic noisemakers sounding off, with patrons kissing, and hugging.

In one smooth movement, just as he did the first time, he bends down, his body curving around hers, and wrapping both arms around her, he lifts her up, their lips meeting. Her mouth opens, and her tongue gently probes at his lips. The kiss deepens. She winds her arms tight around his neck, her hand cradling his head, fingers deep in his hair.

~~~

## FIVE YEARS LATER

With the boot of the car open, and a plump Fraser fir strapped to the roof, Jamie tries to unload their bags despite the chaos that is running around the property.

 _Claire!_ he shouts, grabbing one of his sons, and hoisting him under his arm like a rugby ball. The other, younger son, raises his arms like the good wee lad he is, waiting for his Da to pick him up. Jamie does a deep knee bend, and scoops him up. He walks up to the door of the cottage and bangs on it with his foot. _Claire! Can ye -_

She opens the door and stands there, hands on hips. 

_Take these wee heathens, will ye? I canna unload the car with them underfoot._ Four-year-old Benjamin is kicking and laughing as he’s held sideways under Jamie’s arm. Claire swings him down, and he scampers away. Next, she takes two-year-old Finn, who reaches for his Mam with the gentlest of smiles. 

With the boys taken care of, Jamie begins the Christmas Eve routine he’s had for the past 5 years. He climbs to the attic to drag down the box of decorations, and the stand. He sets up the tree, and all four of them decorate it, with the boys throwing tinsel at each other, and at the tree. Jamie patiently moves the concentration of ornaments from the bottom branches to places farther up. Claire untangles the tinsel and lays it on the branches, just as she did when she was a little girl.

They all eat pizza on the floor before a roaring fire, watching the Christmas lights as they twinkle on every bough. 

After the boys’ bath and a bedtime story, Jamie and Claire head downstairs. Jamie digs out the Echo Dot from his bag, and sets it up, while Claire begins to make up their sofa bed.

The beginning beats of ‘Last Christmas’ fill the air, and Jamie takes his wife in his arms. They dance, like they’ve done every year since their first holiday, in this same cottage. They own it now, purchased from the Widow Bug three years ago. 

And as they dance, Claire looks deep into the tropical blue eyes of her husband, and remembers that first Christmas together when an accidental internet glitch brought him into her life. 

As they dance, Jamie looks into the golden richness of his wife’s gaze and remembers that freak snow storm that trapped them for days, giving them time to fall in love with each other.

They kiss, whisper _I love you_ , and fall into bed where Jamie covers her with his body, like he did that first Christmas Eve six years ago.

~~~

Mother Nature casts a glance toward a little corner of the Highlands and smiles. _Journeys end in Lovers meeting, every wise man’s son doth know,_ she says, quoting William Shakespeare. And because it’s been her gift every year, she sends some quiet snow to fall all around them.


End file.
